


Beta, Theta, and Me

by Realityhelix



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A/B/O sorta, F/M, Gender Exploration, Homelessness, NSFW, Nudity, Post Ragnarok AU, Timeline Shenanigans, mentions of abuse, mentions of torture, redemption/reformation arc, sorta not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:54:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23448112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Realityhelix/pseuds/Realityhelix
Summary: The world is, and has always been, more complicated than any system can classify. The complexity of your world is far greater than you could ever imagine, from the expression of the self, to the shape taken on by reality itself.
Relationships: Loki/Reader
Comments: 35
Kudos: 104





	1. Walk in the Door

It was starting to get warm again. The danger of freezing to death on the streets was passing, but that meant a new danger approached: people. More people out and about meant more opportunities for you, but more danger as well.

More people meant more to beg from, but also more people that would be willing to hurt you in some way or another. It also meant more competition from other street people, who you knew from experience, absolutely _were_ willing to hurt you.

You were surprisingly good at surviving out here on the streets. It wasn't ideal, not by a long shot. You suffered, you shivered, you starved, just like everyone else out here. But you didn't get sick as much as the others, you always seemed to know the best places and targets for begging. You were still relatively young, and could feign cuteness.

Most of the people out here were betas. Alphas didn't generally end up homeless, and Omegas were usually snapped up before it could happen to them. Just another example of social inequality.

You were no Omega, but you had the same, strong sense of smell. It helped you avoid danger sometimes, and choose begging targets-mostly Omegas, who were soft. Your dumbass, prepper parents had at least taught you some useful survival skills: climbing, rough shelter, even what weeds could be eaten. Sure, you weren't supposed to eat things that grew close to roads or buildings, but you were also eating literal garbage sometimes, so you were in no position to worry about that.

While the city center wasn't your usual haunt, with its hostile architecture, and its increased police presence, you had accidentally fallen asleep on the subway, and this was where they had kicked you out. It was a long walk back to the suburbs you liked to hide in, and you really had to pee.

The Avenger's Tower Museum was a landmark now, and a tourist trap. It was easy to slip in and find a restroom. With everybody so caught up in learning about famous heroes, no one paid attention to a random patron, even if she was dirtier that the usual visitor.

You knew the Avengers had a separate training compound somewhere out in the countryside, but that they could sometimes also be found here. You knew Tony Stark, in particular, had moved back to the upper reaches of the tower, after his house had been blown up. Perils of being a superhero, you supposed. You hoped they weren't here today. You were going to take advantage, and it felt a bit wrong if the heroes were here.

The bathroom was big, and the stalls were spacious and sparkling clean. You felt like a mud smear on the immaculate walls. Well, that was okay, you were hoping to take care of that problem, at least a little bit.

You hid out in one of the stalls, stripping your shirt off, but leaving your jacket on. You'd done this a few times before, and it was always risky, and took forever, but you had to clean up somehow.

When there was no one in the bathroom with you, you rushed out of the stall, soaked your shirt in the sink, wrung it out slightly, then dashed back into the stall. With the door locked behind you, you stripped off your bra and jacket, then began scrubbing yourself with your wet shirt. Darting back out, you got some soap, and rubbed it all over yourself back in the stall. You cleaned your whole body this way, drying yourself off with your sweatpants.

Now for the hard part.

Partially dressed, you soaked, soaped, and scrubbed each article of clothing in turn, hanging them around the stall to dry. This part took forever, and was extra risky, but it wasn't as if you had anything else to do today, and you didn't get the opportunity to clean your clothes very often.

It proved to be too risky. Someone must have noticed that you were acting suspicious, because the next thing you knew you were being hauled, half dressed, out of the bathroom and across the main floor. They were actually going to toss you out on the street without even all your clothes on!

“Oh hey, what do we have here?” Someone asked. It was a voice that didn't seem used to being ignored.

“Just a drifter, Mr. Stark. We caught her shooting up in the bathroom.” One of the security guards said. You both bristled at the total lie, and sank at the sound of the mans name. You hadn't wanted any of them to see you.

“I was not!” You protested. “I was washing up! There's nothing against the law about getting clean!”

“Is that why she's naked?” Stark asked, a little incredulous over what he was seeing.

“I was drying my clothes, but they pulled me out of the stall before I could get them back on.” You grumbled, not expecting anything to come of it. Maybe he would get you your clothes back before you were tossed out. Otherwise, you would be needing to dig around for a pair of pants.

“Seriously? All those training videos I pay for, and you really think throwing a half-dressed woman out on the street is part of acceptable procedure?” Stark snorted. “No, no, no. You-” He pointed at you with a flourish of his hand. “Come with me. And you two get ready for some sensitivity training sessions.”

He led you away from the security guards and staring tourists, into the back hallways used by staff. It vaguely occurred to you that you ought to be distrustful of being a homeless, half-naked woman practically alone in a hidden hallway with a powerful man, but...well, he was Iron Man. Yes, he had a reputation as a former womanizer, but no one had yet come forward to say that any of it hadn't been consensual.

Besides, if he really was like that, Mrs. Potts probably would have torn his spine out through his ass. As Alphas went, she seemed the very no-nonsense type. Maybe not arrogant, so much as not willing to put up with much in the way of shenanigans. Perhaps she'd chosen the wrong mate. Or perhaps her influence kept him from getting into even more trouble than he already did.

“Were your clothes dry? Do you want me to send someone to get them?”

“Nah, they were still pretty wet. I was just gonna put them on and leave. I really wasn't doing anything wrong, seriously. I just wanted to wash up and get out. Didn't wanna bother nobody. But they _are_ still hanging in the stall, so someone oughta get them.”

“Okay, can do. Here.” He tapped a code into a pad, and a closet door opened up. Peeking inside, you saw a lot of very organized janitorial equipment, including carts, vacuums, waxing machines, and uniforms. Stark pointed at those. “Get yourself some pants, please. I feel like a sleazebag here.”

You grabbed some pants as he turned his back.

“Get yourself a shirt too. And one of those vests. And a hat.” He said, and you did, putting on the new clothes. “I swear, my whole security team makes me look like some kind of tyrant. They're so severe! I mean, I guess that's what I should have expected, hiring on former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. But they needed jobs after Nat dropped that truth bomb about HYDRA all over the internet...You knew about that, right?”

“Yeah, I think squids living under a rock at the bottom of the ocean even heard about that.”

“Well, they're good people, mostly, but they're just so serious. They had to be, to do their former jobs, and they just brought it with them into this job. It doesn't occur to them that tossing a naked lady out onto the street makes me look really bad, and isn't very nice to you either. Even if you were getting high in the bathroom, I don't really care. I'm not perfect, I've indulged in the occasional magic brownie. Can't judge. Grab that cart will you? Wall chart says it's about time for that bathroom to get cleaned.”

The man was an absolute chatterbox, and you had your hands on the cart before it registered that he had even said it. Was that how he always got his way? You were no Omega, and he was no Alpha, but he was powerful nonetheless, and he overwhelmed you with words. You just found yourself doing whatever it was he said.

You followed him out to the bathroom, fully dressed, and dragging the cart behind you, expecting to collect your wet clothes and leave.

“Now, don't forget to put on your gloves, and one of these masks here, so you don't breathe in the cleaners. You know,” He said at your bewildered glance. “Since you like cleaning things so much.”

“U-um...”

“Code's twenty-four thirty, check the wall chart for what's next. You can read and write?”

“Yes...?”

“Great! I'll get an application sent to you at the end of the shift. Have fun!”

He strode off into the crowd without a second glance back, and disappeared into the crowd, leaving you deeply confused, hopeful, and just a little repulsed.

You had a job now, it seemed. All of a sudden, you were gainfully employed. He had the power to completely reorder your life on a whim. That was terrifying, but also an opportunity you didn't want to let slip. If he was feeling generous, you would take advantage of it.

You put on a pair of gloves, and slipped a paper mask over your face. It was time to go to work.

*****

This was a little harder than you had thought it would be. Since you hadn't done this before, or gotten any training at all, you were mostly just guessing what cleaners to use, and what proper toilet cleaning procedure might be. You weren't sure how to open the automatic paper towel dispensers in order to put in new rolls, or where to put the wet floor sign when you mopped. Also, people kept coming in and ruining your work, though you supposed that was part of the point.

It took about an hour for you to get the whole place scrubbed, restocked, and shining. You had cleaned every speck of dust or dirt, and paid close attention to every tiny detail. That ought to be satisfactory.

You wheeled the cart back into the Employee's Only halls, only to be stopped by a tall, frowning woman.

“Who are you?” She demanded. “Who told you you could take this cart?”

“New hire.” You said, hoping she would see that you were busy and let you go on your way. You didn't like the look of her.

“I wasn't informed of any new hire!”

“Very new. Just came on this morning.”

She grasped the cart, stopping you in place.

“I run the janitorial department. I wasn't informed of any new hire. I'm notifying security.”

“Mr. Stark brought me on himself!” You protested. “Just this morning! It was real sudden, but that's what happened.”

“Bullshit. I'll just ask him directly, shall I?” She whipped out a very smart looking phone, and pressed a single digit on its nearly flat face.

A minute passed. Dragged. Stretched. The woman's' frown grew deeper, and you struggled to refrain from sarcastic comments about her perceived self-importance.

Finally, the phone picked up.

“Yo.” Came Stark's bored voice.

“I've caught a vagrant in the D-3 hallway. She's either trying to steal or to spy. She says you personally hired her this morning.”

“Huh? Who?”

Your heart sank. Seemed like the game was over.

“Oh yeah! She's our newest janitor. Real passion for cleaning.”

“Wh-really? But sir!”

“Don't worry. Florence. Didn't you just send me an email suggesting you were short-handed since Anne got married? Well, there you go! Problem solved, and almost immediately. Get along now. Bye!”

“But-” The phone went dark again. You were honestly surprised he had answered in the first place. The man was a billionaire, on top of the world, a hero and one of the most famous figures mankind had ever known. Smash together King Tut, Einstein, and Elvis, and the resulting super-person would still have nothing on the fame of Anthony Stark. And 'Florence' here was a grump who seemed to think a bit too much of her own importance.

She glared at you. You shrugged.

“Fine. Show me what you did.”

You took her to the bathroom, proudly showing off your sparkling work.

“So you took this cart at nine fourty-six, and have only gotten back now...it took you an hour to do this?”

You weren't completely in love with her tone.

“Where did you get your training?”

“Uh...”

“Thought so. He just grabbed you and tossed you into this didn't he? Look, taking a whole hour to clean one bathroom is not going to cut it. This building is ninety-three floors, and each one has several bathrooms which, incidentally, will not be the only things you will be expected to clean. You will have to speed up.”

She glanced around. “I see what you've done here. You've scrubbed literally everything. Behind the toilets. The underside of the sinks. The trash cans. You can't do this every time. It'll just take too long. You need to learn the basics before you start doing all the extra stuff.”

Well that was new. Getting reprimanded for doing your job _too well_.

“Come along. We'll do another bathroom. I'll show you the basics.”

You followed her out of the bathroom and into the hidden halls.

“We don't go wheeling the bathroom carts out among the museum tours.” She lectured. “Even though we are cleaners, anything associated with toilets becomes associated with filth, in the laymans eyes. There are maps here and there, but if you think you're going to work here, you'll get the layout memorized quickly.”

You spent another hour and a half learning basic bathroom cleaning techniques. This was apparently what you would be spending most of your time on. Every bathroom on the ten museum floors was scheduled to be cleaned once per two hours, and every bathroom on the dozens of office and lab floors at least three times per day. You would not be alone in doing this task, but since, as had been pointed out, the janitorial team was shorthanded, you would have to do many of them, and you would have to learn to do it _fast_. Florence didn't seem terribly convinced that you would be able to.

She sure had a lot to say about you; carefully cloaked jabs at your appearance, hygiene, and intelligence. She even seemed to insinuate that you smelled bad, on the elevator up to the highest level of labs that you would be given access to. You felt that was rather unfair; you had technically just washed, and you were even wearing fresh clothes!

Upon disembarking the elevator, Florence led you to each of the bathrooms on the floor, and you glanced into the labs. Away from the museum, you didn't have to sneak through hidden halls to avoid being spotted by the general public, and could see what was going on around you.

There was a lot of...very sciency stuff going on in those labs, and you didn't understand a lick of it. But it might be nice to learn sometime.

A loud, but faraway sound penetrated the lab, like a roaring wind. You'd have guessed that it really was nothing but the wind, rushing around the building, dozens of floors higher into the air than you'd ever been, except...

Except that everyone, Florence included, paused in what they were doing, and looked toward the ceiling. As if they'd heard it before, and knew it heralded something. One man, far down the hall, left his lab and booked it to another elevator.

“What was that?” You asked, mildly nervous.

“Nothing we need to concern ourselves with.” She answered. “We should go back downstairs. Khalil should be getting in soon; I'll have him show you how the floor waxers work, and where the box and trash compactors are, while I scrape you up an application, and get you entered into the system.”

As she led you away, a column of prismatic, screaming light faded from a special platform, far, far above you, and two people stepped onto the very top floor of the tower.


	2. Ascend the Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You shoot through the ranks more swiftly than you had ever imagined possible. But the sacrificial lamb is exalted before it is executed.

“Mr. Stark!”

“And now I gotta deal with this.” He muttered, closing a holo-screen and whirling in his rolling stool to face her. “Florence! Surprised to see you. Isn't there somebody else to see to whatever problem you have?”

“It has to do with that new hire, Whom you forced on us. Since it has to do with her, I bring it to you.”

“Hey, do I pay you for sass?”

“No, you pay me because I am the best at what I do. I mean to continue doing it.” She slapped a paper down in front of him.

“I don't like being handed-”

“That's why I didn't.” She tapped the paper. It was an application. “She has falsified information. Look.”

He looked. He couldn't help it. Florence reminded him altogether too much of one of his old nannies. He could never disobey that woman either.

On the application, next to Secondary Gender, you had scrawled not the usual **α,** β **,** or Ω, but a θ instead.

“Maybe...it's a sloppy Beta? Like just a really sloppy B?”

“Except she writes a perfectly legible B later on. Also, this address is false. No one lives there, it's a storage center. I wouldn't put money on that phone number being legit either. On top of that-” She said, cutting Tony off. “I have caught her filching food from the employee cafeteria.”

“Oh yeah? What did she take?”

“Creamers, jelly, crackers, and salad dressing packets.”

“So...all the stuff we offer for free?”

“With purchase of something else.” Florence sniffed. “Also, I caught these this morning.”

She held her phone out, showing slightly blurry pictures of a person who might be you climbing out of the dumpster behind the building.

“Okay, that doesn't necessarily prove anything.”

“And I've caught her sleeping around the building.”

“On the clock?”

“On breaks, and sometimes before her shift.”

“So, not on the clock.”

“Sir, she is breaking the law!”

“Well, so did you when you took that picture without her consent. I don't tolerate spying on my employees.”

“Sir!”

“What's the real problem here, Florence? That she's homeless? Don't we want them to go get jobs? Then suddenly she's got one, and you're like, no not like that?”

“I just don't understand why you are rewarding a stranger for breaking the rules. Indecent exposure in the bathroom, and you give her a job. Lying on her application, and you defend her. You don't even know this girl, you don't know why she was on the street, what warrants might be out for her, what problems she might have, what havoc she might cause. That nonsense symbol on her gender identification alone shows she's not taking this seriously!”

“Theta.” He murmured.

“Pardon?”

“It's not nonsense, it's a Theta. It's just another letter. We use it in mathematics all the time; it means there's an angle.”

“Is she trying to tell us she's crooked?” Florence demanded.

“She's probably just a Beta who thinks secondary gender inquiries are an invasion of privacy. It's all the rage among the young people these days. In any case, just keep her on for a week or two. If she's gonna wash out, you'll know by then. It'll give you the chance to do a few more interviews. You're still looking for extra help, right? You've got permission, go on ahead and do it. Two, three more people.”

“Well...Alright.” Florence said, mollified. “Thank you sir.”

“You know I got your back. But we gotta shake things up every now and then, keep things fresh. Get in people from all walks of life, keep in touch with the pulse of society, all that. Now run along, dear. You've got a ship to keep shape, don't you?”

“That I do, sir.” Florence left, forgetting the application behind her. Tony held the paper up, examining it. Fake address for sure, and likely the number was for a burner phone. Age, education, and work history looked legit. There was a year and a half gap between your last job and this one: it probably marked the amount of time you'd been on the streets.

A Theta symbol. Why that, specifically?

“You're not too fond of Florence, are you?” F.R.I.D.A.Y. asked.

Tony shrugged. “Not really, but she's damn good at her job. That's all I really need from her. Would you do me a favor and look up gender expressions pertaining to Theta? There's a lot of new terminology I need to get caught up with. This might be one of them.”

*****

You sneaked another sugar packet from the ground floor coffee shop, fully aware that the amused barista was watching, and didn't care in the slightest.

You sprinkled a tiny bit into a little container of coffee creamer, then knocked the whole thing back like some kind of shot.

Everybody knew now that you worked here, and if they speculated about your bizarre eating habits, none of them said anything to you about it.

As long as you didn't break any rules, nobody seemed to care.

Fine by you. Even though they were small, simple snacks; salad crackers with tiny packets of jelly, butter, and salad dressing, sugar, salt and pepper packs, creamers, ketchups, mustards, and mayonaise, these were quick and easy sources of calories that hadn't been readily available to you before.

Having a fresh uniform each day was kind of amazing. Florence insisted that all uniforms be cleaned and disinfected properly, which meant they all got left behind at the end of the day, and were clean by morning. It had the added bonus of no one seeing you wearing a Stark-affiliated uniform while you were sleeping on the fire escape, or hanging around near the dumpsters outside

You weren't exactly friends with the baristas here, you never even talked, but ever since you had run a creeper out of the shop by being generally stinky and unpleasant to be around, they had started disposing of their expired muffins and cookies by wrapping them in wax papers or bags. Their boss hadn't caught on yet, but you were deeply grateful to them for every bite you salvaged from the trash.

Soon you would get your first paycheck, and then you could buy a decent meal. You'd been planning and dreaming of what it would be. Steak and potatoes? An omelet? Maybe just a regular old hamburger and Coke?

It might be the only paycheck you saw from Stark Industries though. You'd overheard Florence and Khalil talking, and she was determined to be rid of you. Khalil didn't really seem to agree, but he had kids at home, and probably couldn't afford to argue.

It didn't matter. Even if it was less than a week, you could put Stark Industries on your resume forever now. That would get you in the door. Janitorial training was a pretty good skill too. Every business needed cleaning staff, no exceptions.

Things were really looking up for you.

No one had even called you on all the weird stuff you'd put on your application.

You hadn't lied, exactly. Not exactly. Sure, you didn't live permanently at the address you'd provided, but you did sleep there sometimes. And you had gone to the school you named...before your parents completely succumbed to their paranoia and pulled you for homeschooling. The hadn't wanted public educators to fill your head with 'propaganda'.

And that was your phone number, though you'd have to buy some minutes when you got paid.

It was all at least semi-true.

Even the Theta was a symbol you had picked up off the internet, when researching what was wrong with you.

You tossed back another sugared creamer.

Having a routine again felt good. It had been over a year, but you slipped back into civilization pretty easily. You were so lucky. You always told yourself that.

Yeah, even if Florence gave you the boot, you still had options. This chapter in your life might soon be coming to an end.

Soon. You just had to wait, and work.

*****

Tony looked over the long, primly written list with amused disbelief.

“Is this...Is he serious?” He asked Thor. “I literally cannot tell when he is being serious, and when he is trolling me.”

“Welcome to the last thousand years of my life.” Thor said dryly, taking the list from Tony, and skimming over it. He held his hand out for a pen, and when Tony handed him one, he began crossing things off of the list.

“No...No...Absolutely not...Oh, he just put that one in there to annoy me...” Thor handed the list back. “But for the most part, yes. He is serious. Whatever else he may be-” He paused at Tony's muttering of 'war criminal' then forged on. “He is still the Crown Prince of Asgard, and the true King of Jotunheim. He is entitled to certain amenities. And then there is his...condition to think about.”

“Crown Prince of-no offense-a set of postage stamp sized fishing villages in Nova Scotia, and true King of a planet so far away that they can't even reach us to take him back. What exactly does he think he's entitled to on an enemy planet? He's here for punishment, right?”

“He's here for rehabilitation. And so that we can try to winkle out the information that we need. The goal is that he comes back to one of Asgard's 'postage stamp' villages eventually. But that man is still out there, and it's altogether too likely that he will make his way here. We're going to have to indulge my brother a bit, if we are to get information about it. Besides, he has proven himself a hero already, and suffered for it. He has earned a bit of leniency.”

“So you say, your majesty, but...” Tony scanned the revised list. “...I think I can provide most of this. But...servants? We don't really do that around here.”

“He will need assistance. And Loki has never been unduly cruel to servants who had done nothing to trouble him.”

“Okay, but what do you mean by 'trouble'? I mean, I have a few people in mind, but they all live here, and might not be instantly comfortable around him. Is he gonna whip someone over dropping a plate, or folding a cape wrong?”

“He is in no position to do so. And he never went so far back home, so I honestly doubt he would do so here. He knows full well the effect he has on the people of this world.”

“Anger and terror?”

“Pretty much.”

“Look. I'm not going to send him a servant. He'll get a maid, and nothing more. If he drives them off, he won't get a replacement. One chance. I'm not putting people at risk for his whims.”

“I couldn't ask for better than that. But time is of the essence my friend.”

“I better get some royal kickbacks for this.” Tony grumbled.

“I'll send you some Asgardian postage stamps.” Thor joked, leaving the lab.

Tony turned back to his desk, pulling up his holographic display. A short list of Greek letters that he'd been learning about popped back up.

“Okay, Theta.” He said. “Time to show me what you're worth.”

*****

The fight started out as an accusation of theft. Florence had caught you with an Iron Muffin-a specialty of the ground floor coffee shop-which you had filched from the dumpster that morning. You'd tried to claim that you'd bought it, but then she'd demanded to see your receipt, and it had just escalated from there.

You were two words away from just quitting then and there, mostly so that she couldn't fire you, when Tony Stark had reached out of the elevator behind you, yanked you into it, waved goodbye to Florence, and shut the doors. As the elevator began to rise, you wiped a few angry tears out of your eyes, embarrassed that he had seen that.

You seemed altogether too prone to show this man your worst sides.

“I'm sorry sir.” You said. “Florence and I don't really get along.”

“She needs to be challenged sometimes. However, I am perfectly able to sass her myself, and I can't have disruption in the janitorial team. Can you imagine the uproar if the floors didn't get waxed properly at night?

Anyway, I thought we might chat about some of the information on your application.”

You were screwed. Could you be arrested for lying on an application?

“Oh geez. I'm sorry about that, but-”

“Yeah, I know. You have to write down an address, but you don't really have one, do you? But you can't leave it blank, so you improvise. I looked you up though. Your family seems to have a history of...shall we call them 'rebellious acts'?”

You hung your head. Fuck. He knew about that too.

“I'm not like them.” You muttered. “I'm not that stupid.”

“Sure hope not. Anyway, wanna tell me what a Theta is? Like, in your words.”

“You won't believe me.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“Nobody does.”

“I can fly. I've been finding things easier to believe since then.”

Well, that was fair. He was Iron Man. He'd been involved with aliens, and killer robots, and terrorists. Why would this be too weird?

“It's kinda like a Beta, but I have an Omega's sense of smell.”

“And Alpha's pheremones don't effect you. Right?”

“R-right...” How did he-?

“You presented me with a conundrum, and I couldn't leave it alone. I needed to find out what you meant, but it wasn't exactly easy. I had to get on tumblr to figure this out. I had to learn what a _demi-omega_ was, to figure this out. I never thought I was out of touch, but damn if you young-uns haven't come up with some creative new lingo.”

“It's just that the world is more complex than a mark on a paper.” You said.

“Don't I know it!” He laughed. “But that's not too bad, is it? Not being overpowered by Alphas? Sounds nice.”

“It's not so bad, but most people think there's something wrong with me. It's not just the Alpha pheremones, I just don't feel-wait a minute, where are we going?”

The elevator had passed the labs, far above the highest floor you were supposed to be allowed to access.

“We're headed to the residential area. Me and Pep aren't the only ones who live up on the top floors. Top dozen or so are basically penthouses, though they aren't all consistently occupied these days.”

You remembered watching footage on the news of a fight at an airport. Avenger versus Avenger. It was terrible; both you and your old roommate had cried a little. It was an awful thing, watching your heroes come apart.

You were kind of glad you didn't have any superpowers or anything like that. You wouldn't want to be at the beck and call of any government, much less more than one. It was something you had actually agreed with your parents on.

“Why are we going up there? I'm not supposed to be here.”

“You're with me kid; you can be anywhere. And anyway, the best way to keep cats from fighting is to separate them. So, from now on, you are a maid.”

“A maid? I don't know how to be a maid, I just started being a janitor!” You protested, then told yourself to shut your trap and not argue with the boss for not firing you.

Tony shrugged. “What's different about being a maid? You still clean stuff, only it's a home instead of a museum. You might need to cook something every now and then. Can you cook?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“Not gonna lie; it's not a walk in the park. But it comes with a pay upgrade, and an apartment off the penthouse, so that's two of your problems solved.”

Suspicion began creeping in. This was all way to good to be true.

“Why me? You have to know that I'm not as qualified as the other janitors. What's the catch?”

“Well, the catch-” The elevator dinged. “Oh, look! We're here!”

The elevator doors opened. Standing right in front of them, in horned helmet and armor, stood Loki, the destroyer of New York.


	3. Get Hired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real reason Tony Stark hired you is revealed, and you get a lateral promotion.

You backpedaled so fast that you collided with the back wall of the elevator with a loud thud.

Loki just stood there, watching.

You leapt forward and punched the 'door close' button.

Horribly, comically, the usurper prince just stood there as the doors slowly closed in his face.

Tony caught your wrist before you could hit any more buttons.

“Woah, woah, woah! Okay, yes, I'm sorry, I should have warned you. That's on me, I'm sorry.”

“What the fuck is he doing here!?!” You screeched. “Why is he in New York? Why isn't he in jail? Why is he still alive?”

“All very good questions, and I'm working on them. He's only here temporarily, and at the behest of his brother. He's made a lot of promises.”

“You want me to be a maid. You want me to be _That Guy's_ maid. Why? Oh god, is this about the salad dressing packets? I thought they were free, I swear-”

“It's not about the salad dressing. It's about...Look, Thor tells me that he needs help around the place. Says he's been injured somehow.”

He looked fine to me!” You exclaimed. “He looked ready to murder the whole tower!” You frowned at the door. “The elevator shouldn't be able to keep him out. Why hasn't he broken in here yet? Why are we still alive?”

“Okay so that's the thing. I don't like it either, but his brother swears the guys conquering days are behind him. I don't necessarily buy it, Thor's always had a soft spot for his brother, and their culture is just different enough that 'attempted world takeover' might not be that big a transgression by their standards.

_However-_ ” He cut you off before you could start screeching again. “-Thor has told me a few things, which is a shocker, considering how tight-lipped he can be about Asgard. One: The situation has completely changed. Asgard is in shambles. The whole place, wiped. That's why they're all here; this is all that's left of them. Thor obviously doesn't want any more of them dead, Loki included, because now they're an endangered species.

Two: Thor is the king now. No more uncertainty between the two of them, no more jockeying for approval. That ship has sailed. It's over.

Three: There is something else going on that Thor was very evasive about. Or maybe he just didn't have the information to share. On their way to Earth, their ship was attacked. Whoever it was killed a lot of people, but Thor tells me Loki did something that kept the majority of them alive, but whatever it was left him horribly injured. I know he doesn't look like it, but it might be something internal, or mental. In any case, he's a hero to his people. I didn't think he had it in him, but guy's surprising me to the end, I guess. Which brings us to...

Four: Loki knew the guy who attacked them. Knew him and had worked with him. And, according to Thor, _cannot speak a word about him_. That's what we need though; we need to know what Loki knows. That's why he's here, that's why we are here with him. There is something here that guy wants, and we need to know what to plan for.

Which means we need to take care of Loki, and maybe acquiesce to a few of his demands.”

“Which are?”

“Well...he needs someone to keep the place clean, maybe cook sometimes. So, for the good of the world, you must become Loki's maid.”

“The actual fuck? Why _me_ though?”

Tony's eyes found the elevator ceiling, as he tried to come up with the right words.

It clicked.

“Oh.” You said. “No one knows he's here, do they?”

“Well, not many people, no. For obvious reasons.”

“And I just got in a fight with someone who has been looking for a reason to fire me since I was hired, so if I don't show up tomorrow, no one will think twice about it.”

“Well-”

“And if I just disappear entirely, it won't matter. I was just a homeless drifter, no one will care.”

“That's not it.”

“It is. It's all right. I understand. There are things you can't risk, and I am extremely expendable.”

He looked guilty, at least. Practically squirming with shame. Good. He understood too.

You hit the 'open door' button.

The elevator doors opened slowly with a ding. Loki was still standing there, as if he hadn't moved once in the entire time you'd been talking.

“Hey there, curlicue, got a minute?”

Loki's lip curled.

“Clearly.” He drawled, in a voice much lower than you expected.

“Well, after reviewing your list of dema-er, requests, we have seen fit to assign you a maid.” Tony pressed against your shoulder, urging you forward and out of the elevator. “This is _______. She can clean, and cook a little.”

Loki eyed you slowly up and down, his expression between a sneer and a smirk.

“This is the best you have to offer, Stark? This filthy, malnourished waif? I'm offended.”

You drew back at the tone of disgust in his voice. _Wow, rude_.

“I think you mean grateful? Because you only get the one, so better not fuck it up.”

“Very well.” Loki grumbled. “You may leave us.”

“I mean it!” Tony threatened as the elevator doors closed. “You better not treat her bad! I'll hear about it and then I'll-”

The doors closed, leaving you alone with a killer.

“Okay.” You said quietly. “So, it's good to meet you. I think.”

You held out your hand, which he just glanced down at impassively. He didn't take it, but his fingers did twitch as if he was thinking about it. You reached out further to grab his indecisive hand-

-But your fingers passed right through him, his whole body fizzling away in a crackle of green light. You screamed and jumped away. You had made Loki explode!

A deep chuckle reached you, morphing into a soft cough. At the end of the entryway hall, where the penthouse expanded into a more open, circular area, was Loki. No armor, no horns, just a rich robe, a wheelchair, and a large neck brace that his long hair spread out over.

“Pathetic creature.” He rasped. “Frightened of phantoms. Come here and let me look at you.”

The place smelled strongly of Alpha, you finally noticed, and you sighed quietly. You didn't find the smell as pleasant as other people seemed to. It wasn't bad, exactly, but it did mean that he was probably used to people just doing whatever he said.

You ambled down the hall towards the new boss. You'd been in New York at the time of the attack. You weren't homeless then, but you had hidden in the subway all the same. The aliens didn't have the time to go down there. They were too busy zipping around topside.

But footage of the battle had been all over the news, including this terrible man. This horrible Loki, who stared at you with tired, sunken, calculating eyes. As if he were searching for your worth. It was strange to see him like this. He probably couldn't even stand on his own.

“As sacrifices go, you are a poor offer on his part.” Loki finally said. “But you will have to do.”

“Sacrifice?”

“Yes, of course. Didn't Stark tell you? Every full moon, I must drink the blood of an innocent. The moon waxes full tonight, and my great hunger must be appeased. Unfortunate for you, but that is how it goes sometimes. Now lean down and stretch out your neck.”

“Oh yeah? If you're a Dracula, where's your fangs then?” You demanded, crossing your arms.

“Look here, delicious morsel.” He opened his mouth, and long fangs slid into place. You jumped back in surprise. Could he actually be-?

Loki laughed again, once again trailing off into a pained cough. The fangs were gone.

“How are you doing that!?!”

“I am powerful beyond your greatest imaginings. I can seize your perceptions, even alter your very sense of reality.”

His body changed in a sparkle of green light, to your own form. It was disconcerting to see yourself tucked into a wheelchair, bulky neck brace holding your head straight and stiff.

“I can be anything.” He said, in your voice. “Anyone. I could be right behind you at any moment, wearing any face, and you would never know.”

“Wait. Does that mean that first face isn't real either?” You asked.

He went silent. Your stolen visage dissolved back into dark hair and snow-white skin, cold gaze glittering up at you.

_Oops. Strike a nerve?_

“I have an order for you.” He said icily. “For your first service to me, I want you to go into your rooms, and bathe. You are utterly filthy, and I find the stench distracting.”

You bristled a little, but you couldn't exactly refute the accusation. You hadn't had access to a shower in a while.

Loki held out his hands and a bundle of sage green cloth shimmered into being.

“Don't put your old clothes back on. They carry the same odor. Use these instead.”

You eyed the little bundle suspiciously. Why did he just...have these?

“These are real, right?” You asked. “They aren't gonna just disappear off me when you feel like being funny, right?”

“Now that would be predictable, wouldn't it? No, these are real, and they are for you. That uniform you are wearing is ugly and graceless, as well as smelly. There isn't much I can do with the rest of you, but I can at least dress you properly.”

“Thanks, I think.” You said, accepting the clothes. “I'll just...go shower, I guess.”

*****

Your new apartment was unfurnished, but it had hardwood floors, and real tiles, and excellent lighting. It was certainly miles better than the cramped little place you'd shared with your old roommate, and even more than the old, drafty house you'd grown up in, before your parents had gone completely stupid.

They would have protested this. Working for a billionaire. Subservient to the enemy. And for what? In exchange for a roof over your head and food to eat? For health insurance and financial stability? What about Liberty? What about self-sufficiency? What about independence?

But you weren't like them. You understood the reality of the world.

The shower felt wonderful. You didn't have toiletries yet, but someone had left behind tiny little soaps and shampoos, like you would find in a hotel. They would do just fine for now.

There was so much grime to wash away. Dirt, and dead skin, and scabs. A year and a half to scrub out of your hair, off your shoulders, and down the drain. The warm water felt like new life, like rebirth. Like shedding your old skin and growing into a new one.

There were no towels, so you just squeezed as much water out of your hair as you could, scrapped it off yourself with your hands, splashing droplets everywhere, flapped your arms and walked in little circles in what you had decided would become the living room, just trying to dry off and figure out your new situation.

This would be the living room, and that would be the bedroom, and that would be a hobby room, if you ever decided to get back into things. You would put a little table there, in front of the window between the living room and the kitchenette. A couch or chair there, a sleeping bag, maybe even eventually a real bed! A houseplant, and food in the kitchen, a laptop, and maybe a pet fish. Like a real person.

And outside, an alien. An Alpha. A war criminal that you had to obey. He was waiting, and you could almost feel his impatience.

You were as dry as you were going to get. Might as well get dressed.

Loki was right about the elegance part. Stark janitor uniforms were simple and utilitarian, but this Asgardian style uniform was well fitted, high quality, and beautiful.

How had he known what size to give you? He was a prince after all; perhaps he was such a connoisseur of women that he could tell from a glance. The underthings especially gave you pause.

There was one accessory-a choker made from velvet ribbon, with a bejeweled golden horned serpent biting its own tail affixed to the front. It was a little too much like a collar for your liking, so you slipped it into one of the multiple pockets in your new uniform.

You headed back out into the hall, to find him waiting in his own living room area, gazing out the wall of windows at the city view. His back was to you.

“That took entirely too long.” He said without turning. “Were you truly so encrusted with grime? Perhaps you will require sandpaper next time, to remove it all?”

“I didn't have a towel.” You admitted.

“Ah yes. You haven't moved in your things yet. Or...do you not have anything to move?”

“I have things.” You said, slowly approaching. “They just aren't here.” They were scattered out in hidden caches around the city. There wasn't much, it was true, and no furniture, but you had a sleeping bag, and some blankets, backpacks, toiletries, even books. In more suburban areas, it was much easier to rummage in the trashcans. You just had to wait until very late at night, on weekdays., and find the houses that didn't have motion activated lights. You could find some good things there.

He glanced up at you as you came to stand beside him. He couldn't turn his head in that big brace, but his eyes followed your reflection in the glass.

“You are not fully in uniform.” He said.

“What? Oh.” You said, remembering the necklace in your pocket. “Well...I'm just not comfortable wearing a collar. I'm a maid, not a dog.”

“Silly thing.” He said. “It's to let the world know that not just anyone gets to order you around. That you are a servant to royalty, and are not subject to poor treatment.”

“Still...”

“Turn me around.” He interrupted abruptly.

You didn't know why he needed you to do that, when he seemed perfectly capable of getting around on his own, but you obliged.

“Now kneel.” He ordered.

“What?”

“Kneel, servant.” He repeated a little impatiently. “There is a little bit of ceremony that must be observed, to make you officially mine. Kneel before me.”

This was getting a bit too kinky for your tastes, but you did it anyway. Maybe he was playing games with you, or maybe this really was the way Asgardian royalty did things. You didn't know.

But he very suddenly had a dagger in his hands, with such a long blade, it might as well have been a sword, and you shied away. Maybe Stark had been wrong, and his murderous streak had not been erased after all. If he killed you, he would no doubt be severely punished, but that wouldn't do anything for you, now would it?

“Kneel, and bow your head.” He commanded. You did, hoping it would keep him from getting stabby.

He laid the blade on your left shoulder, very close to your neck, like he was knighting you.

“______, Maid of Midgard, I accept you into my entourage as the executor of...maidly duties, which shall consist of both whatever I need and whatever I ask.”

When you opened your mouth to protest, he quickly raised a finger.

“A good servant does whatever is required of them, and a good master knows what not to ask. Now rise. And put on the necklace.”

And you did.

“You are now the first of my entourage on Earth. Congratulations. Now do go make us lunch. I am famished.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There aren't actually any notes, but it kept copying the notes from the first chapter, and I didn't know how to make it stop.


	4. Cross the Threshold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki puts you to work immediately, but some of his idea of what 'work' is seems strange.

Lunch was made nervously: it had been some time since you last had the opportunity to actually cook something on a stove, with dishes, and ingredients you had to prepare yourself. Spaghetti, you decided, was the best way to go. You knew how to make it all in one pot, which had always saved you time on dishes.

Loki didn't speak a word to you while you worked, just staring out the windows in contemplation. The view from here was oriented to the back of the building, where the fire escape was, and the dumpsters just across the street. He probably couldn't see them from this far off the ground, but you wondered if Stark hadn't put him here on purpose, as a mild insult.

It was strange to think you'd spent the last week sleeping on that fire escape, so far below him.

When you brought the meal to him, he gazed at it, unimpressed, and made no move to eat it.

“This looks incredibly messy.” He said. You should have known a prince would be prim about food. “You will have to help me eat it.”

“What?” You asked. Surely he wasn't that prim!

“I am not at present easily able to lean forward.” He explained. “I will need you to feed this to me. Do not make me repeat myself.” He added, at your hesitation. “I will need much from you that your unrefined living has apparently made you unready for. Do not sit there thinking up a sonnet about it, just do it!”

You hurriedly scooted a chair over next to him, spinning noodles into a little ball on the fork, and holding it out for him. It gave you the weird feeling of feeding a giant baby bird; you needed to get the food directly into his mouth, but you couldn't just jab, or shove.

“It is passable.” He declared after the first bite. “Just make sure not to get any of that sauce on me. Now, where is your portion?”

“Mine?” Though your stomach had been growling wildly, and your mouth watering the entire time, you hadn't cooked more than one portion. You'd still been in the headspace that told you to wait until it was safe to steal from the trash.

“I didn't know I was supposed to cook anything for me. I thought it was just supposed to be for you.” You said honestly. If you'd known, you definitely would have made a big meal for yourself.

Loki breathed a sigh. “ I suppose there is no help for it then. What use is a servant who collapses from hunger? You must take a bite yourself, after each one you give me.”

“What?” You repeated.

“Do you not hear me, or are you just that dull?” Loki asked.

“No, it's just...I've never done anything like this before.”

“Oh, I know.” Loki said. “Assigning me an incompetent servant is just one of Starks many little insults to me.”

“Sorry.” You mumbled.

“All part of the game, my dear. Stark is a fool if he thinks I cannot spin gold from dross. Now take your bite.”

You swirled a few noodles onto the fork.

“Is this sanitary?” You wondered aloud.

“Given that you came to me filthy and stinking, and I've seen you grubbing around in the garbage down there, I shouldn't have thought that would be an issue with you.”

You jerked back. He knew?

“My eyes are much better than yours. Than any humans. Even in twilight, I could see you. Oh, but humans really are a pathetic race; abandoning their own to the point that some of you apparently go feral.”

“Now that's not-”

“Not true? No? Tell me then, why are your greatest examples of so-called civilization filled with homeless, and poor, and dying? Your most advanced spaces overflowing with suffering? Your loftiest monuments to your own achievements tower over the corpses of those who were crushed in order to build them. I meant to usher in a true golden age, unlike anything humanity had ever experienced! Peace, prosperity, unity, all of the things you cannot seem to find for yourselves.”

“How many corpses for your monument?” You asked. He scowled.

“Eat the food.” He commanded. “I do not carry any diseases, and I do not fear yours.”

Huffily, you took your bite. It wasn't half bad. Could have been better, if you weren't so out of practice.

“Good girl. And now mine.”

Back and forth you went, turning a simple lunch into something uncomfortably intimate. He watched you like a predator, and you tried to distract yourself with what your paycheck would get you. Fingernail clippers. A toothbrush. Socks.

There were so many things, big and little, that you needed in order to get established.

“Are you lost, feral thing?” Loki asked, jerking you out of your thoughts. “I will be leaving the dishes to you, for obvious reasons.”

“Oh. Yeah, right. Lemmie just take care of that.”

Meal finished, you hurried to the little kitchen to do the washing up. It had been a good idea to limit the amount of dishes you'd used, because soon enough he had you out on the floor, sweeping. And then up a ladder, cleaning the windows. And then dusting. And then beating the rugs out on the balcony. And then sweeping the balcony. And, of course, cleaning the bathroom, which barely looked used.

What, did alien lordships not need to shit?

There was a separate room, which housed an actual bathtub, a huge round thing that was clearly meant to hold more than one person. You cleaned it too, though, from the thin layer of dust, it seemed that it hadn't been used either. Also in the room was a small, wooden closet, that you finally identified as a sauna, which you also cleaned.

He practically had you scrubbing the walls, before suppertime finally rolled around.

“Cook enough for yourself this time as well.” He said. “Then you may take time to yourself for the evening, though I will have one last task for you, just before I retire.”

You opted for chicken fingers and french fries, finding them both in the freezer, ready to prepare.

Loki was very unimpressed, though whether it was by the humble nature of the food, or the very concept of dipping sauces, you weren't sure. He seemed especially outraged by barbecue sauce.

“Humans have no refinement!” He complained. “A riot in the streets or a riot on the tongue, it matters not, as long as you can somehow lose yourselves in something!”

Apparently ketchup was exactly as offensive.

After dinner, you washed the dishes, then went to your apartment and lay down on the floor, in the place you intended to put your future bed. You didn't really have anything to occupy your time, so you lay there, eyes closed, waiting for dinner to digest.

You were startled awake by the sound of Loki's voice right by your ear, calling your name. You must have inadvertently dozed off. You hurried out of your apartment and into the penthouse in order to find him.

He was positioned next to a big fireplace that was decorated like something out of a fancy mountain lodge. All that was missing was a bearskin rug, and an animal head mounted above the mantel.

Loki was reading a book in a language you couldn't quite make out, and he didn't bother looking up as you approached.

“Uh, you called?”

“You heard. Good, you can hear me. Yes, there is one last task I need to to perform this evening. I need you to go into my room, remove your uniform, and lay down in my bed. Then-”

“Gonna have to stop you right there, champ!” You exclaimed. “Absolutely not! Not happening. I don't care what you say, that's not part of the job! That's never going to be part of the job, and honestly? Fuck you for thinking you can just take whatever you want from me! Did you treat your old Asgardian servants this way? Disgusting! Hey...are you laughing or choking?”

He was laughing, though it clearly pained him. You glared.

“Are you done?” He asked, once he'd gotten control of himself. “If so, then I ask that you look at me and apply a little critical thinking. Why should I desire a feral dumpster rat? And how, exactly, do you expect me to perform, when I am...like this?” He gestured to the bulky neck brace.

“Well...” That was a good point. “What was all that 'get naked and get in bed' stuff then?”

“I never said naked, I said to remove your uniform first. I want you to warm my bed up before I sleep. Just lay there for about thirty minutes, then dress and leave. It was a perfectly respectable profession on Asgard, usually undertaken by those who, for whatever reason, couldn't do much else. I don't see why it should cause so much fuss here. Do you think yourself above the task?”

“No, I can do it.” You said. “We don't really have a 'bed warmer' job here, though I wouldn't be surprised if the rich were forcing their help into positions like that. But when people tell you to do that kind of thing 'here', it's assumed to lead to other things. The upper classes seem bent on just taking whatever they want from those they have authority over, and you killed a bunch of people and wanted to take over the world. Why should I assume you're any different?”

“Because I do not come from barbarian stock, feral thing. I am the son of kings. Now go lay down. Set a timer. Reflect on how much better a master I am to have than apparently anyone else on this forsaken planet.”

You grumbled a bit, but mostly just to yourself. This had really been a hell of a day.

*****

Loki's room was huge, but not as ostentatious as you'd thought it would be. For some reason, you had envisioned gold and jewels on everything, maybe stained glass in the windows, and you were still hung up on the idea of bearskin rugs.

The rugs here were not bears though, but intricately patterned weaves in green, yellow, and black, three colors that dominated the decor. Plush rugs and tapestries that served as curtains, blocking out nearly all outside light. His lordship must like to sleep late.

It was easy to tell what pieces of furniture came from far away Asgard, and what came from down the street Ikea. His desk, his bed, his dresser and the old fashioned chest at the foot of his bed were all heavy, solid, dark wood, with blackened metal, and green leather. The chairs and side table, however, were simple, painted plywood.

To your surprise, there was a collection of weapons scattered across the desk and dresser. There was a sword, carved with a snake, its edges dark with either corrosion or poison, a weighted net, woven with barbs, and a bow as long as you were tall, with a gorgeous leather and velvet quiver filled with black fletched, ebony arrows. And just...so many knives. From the length of your thumb, to the length of your forearm, with straight, curved, angled, and wavy blades.

Loki must not let anyone in here, for all these to still be here. You were pretty sure that if Stark knew, they'd be confiscated.

Damn, you were going to have to decide whether to keep your mouth shut or not, weren't you?

You stripped out of the loaned uniform, and slipped under the thick, velvety blankets. You'd expected that Loki would have a stupidly large bed, the best sheets the softest pillows, but where to lay? You wriggled your way to the center of the spacious bed-honestly, how many people did he expect to fit into this thing? No, maybe you didn't want to know. Royal orgies were...well, you just weren't interested.

How long had it been since you had lain in a real bed? It seemed like decades. Even then, you'd never been in a bed this luxurious. How soft and silky these sheets were! The blankets were like clouds, and the pillowcases-were they made of satin? That must be how he kept those gentle curls. No doubt it was difficult to tend to his hair with that brace on his neck.

The whole room smelled powerfully of Alpha, always just a little too strong for comfort. Maybe you just had too many negative associations with that scent, but it always made you uncomfortable. No matter how much you tried to relax here, it was keeping you on high alert.

Even when he wasn't in the room, he was still dominating. He could barely do anything on his own, but he was still such a commanding presence. Some of that was sheer regal countenance rather than pheromones. That chemical cocktail might have no effect on you, but force of personality did.

Underneath the Alpha scent was another, heavier in the bed than anywhere else. It was him, of course, the scent that would belong to him alone, Alpha or not. This one wasn't so bad. It was softer, a gentle counterpoint to the harsh Alpha smell.

Tomorrow was payday. Maybe you should get a bed? Or at least a nice futon? You should definitely get some towels, so you didn't have to drip dry every time you showered. But first you should pick up your little caches of things from around the city, if any of them were still intact. That would get you some clothes, some toiletries, a sleeping bag, even some books.

You were turning things over in your head, making lists of things to get, and in which order to do so, when you heard Loki's voice call your name again. You sat up straight in his bed, but he was nowhere to be seen.

_Put on your uniform and open the door_ , you heard. It was like he was in the room with you. You scrambled to get dressed. Had thirty minutes already passed? That was another thing you had to do tomorrow-get your phone turned back on. You really needed access to the timer function.

He was right outside the door when you opened it, gazing at you with mild disapproval.

“That took too long.” He complained. “And your hair is a mess.”

“I was just lying down.” You said, raking a hand through your hair. “And if I was already taking too long, stopping to fix my hair would have taken even longer.”

“I don't pay you for sass, girl.” Loki sniffed.

“You don't pay me at all.” You said. “Tony Stark does, to take care of you.”

“Then take care of me. Help me into bed.”

You sensed trickery, but helped him stand anyway. He leaned his weight on you, and your body nearly buckled. Standing, wrapped in a robe, you could tell that he was thin, so how could he possibly weigh so much?

You led him to the side of his spacious bed, where he carefully flopped down and had you pull the blankets up to his shoulders.

“It is still cold.” He complained.

“Uh, well, I was in the middle of the bed.”

Loki frowned. “Pray tell, how did you think I was going to get into the middle of the bed?”

You didn't say anything. You should have thought about that, but you were just so disoriented by this new life you found yourself in.

“You are like a prey animal, just reacting to outside stimuli.” Loki pointed out. “I need you to possess wits. Go now, and find some.”

That was a dismissal, if ever you had heard one. You hurried out of his room and into yours, changed out of the Asgardian work uniform, and into the Stark uniform, then entered the elevator.

Tonight you would gather your things. Tomorrow, your apartment would be that much closer to a home.


	5. Sleep in Your Own Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You gather your things, and then you make a little mistake.

You rode the elevator down by yourself, going over your retrieval route in your head. You had enough money for three stops, but that was it, until tomorrow. You could probably wait, but you didn't really want to. You wanted to get at least one of your sleeping bags, so you didn't have to spend the night on a bare floor. It wasn't like you'd never had to do that before, but right now, you didn't need to.

For once, you didn't get any suspicious glares on the subway, with your washed hair, and your clean Starktech uniform. Amazing how people were so much more willing to accept your presence, when they didn't think you were a burden on society.

It took you a good few hours to round up your best caches. A few had disappeared, and some had been ruined in one way or another. You managed to salvage some of your best stuff, including two of your sleeping bags. Wresting it all onto the subway and all the way back to the tower was a challenge, and it did get you some stares, but nobody questioned a Starktech uniform.

Which might come back to bite Tony sometime.

But for tonight, it was just you taking advantage of the name to get safe passage while you hauled your stuff into the tower. You didn't even need keys or security clearance; Tony's ingenious artificial intelligence systems recognized who was supposed to be there and who was not.

When you finally reached your floor, all the lights were out, as you expected. Even the huge wall of windows had been blacked out. Loki must really like it dark-he'd blocked out all outside light, even in the rooms he wasn't currently in! Even the ambient back-up lights that were all over the tower had been darkened here.

That made it somewhat difficult to find your apartment door. You stumbled around in the darkness, searching for some part of the wall that wasn't wall. It was hard to hold on to all of your stuff, but you felt like you would lose it in the dark, if you were to put it down. If Loki could see you right now, you could just imagine him rolling his eyes, and muttering some kind of insult. Even if this was all his fault.

It was probably just one more way he could get on Stark's nerves: making it so that surveillance was useless. Even if it was just when Loki was asleep, no doubt whatever Avengers were left would want to keep a close eye on him. And no doubt Loki would do whatever he was able to mess with them.

Loki, God of Inconveniences.

Now that was something to think about. Gods were apparently real. Or were they? Certainly, Loki had seemed godlike, flying out of the sky with his alien plague, his outlandish clothing, his grand speeches. Smiting and laying waste to the wicked city with his great and powerful magics. Clashing with another god in a monumental battle to determine the fate of the world. Yes, that was the stuff myths were made of.

Your parents hadn't believed in God. Not in anything spiritual, in fact, and they had died before the discovery of extraterrestrial life. They had never known this horror. The enormous realization that gods existed, and the equally huge realization that even they could die.

Or at least be brought low. That the cruel and capricious Loki, who's face had dominated all forms of media for over a year, could be so badly injured that he could do nearly nothing for himself. What a terrible thing to know.

What had happened to him? What had brought all of Asgard here, to lowly Earth? Why had Loki even come along? Why wasn't he evil anymore? Or was he, and you were just going to have to deal with it?

No, surely not. Not completely evil, at least. Iron Man would have never allowed it, if he was completely evil. Thor wouldn't have let him out of his sight if he was completely evil.

He might still be a little evil though. As a treat.

But he'd shared his food with you when he guessed you hadn't had anything to eat. And even though he had teased you _a lot_ today, he hadn't been vicious. But that did not mean there was no evil there. You were perfectly aware that evil could be sophisticated and handsome, or harmless in appearance, or even boring and mundane. You had faced mundane evils almost every day for the past year. Hostile architecture, being barred from entering certain places, unwarranted hatred, violence, and exploitation.

Some of your caches of supplies had been deliberately destroyed. Not thrown away, not even stolen to be used by someone else. Someone had found them, made them unusable, and then left them for you to find, on purpose. That was the kind of simple, everyday evil you faced.

But maybe not anymore? Or at least, not for a while. Loki was convalescing, but not dead. He would eventually go somewhere else. To jail, or back to Asgard, or somewhere else. Somewhere you couldn't go. And then you'd be out a job. But still, you would have a good resume, and good recommendations, so it didn't really matter if this was temporary.

You heard a small sound, and went very still. In this complete darkness, you couldn't be sure you were alone. It was silly, because there was no way for anyone other than you, Loki, and other cleared personnel to even get here. It wasn't like there was like a thief lurking in the dark, but the lessons of the past year were still with you.

You finally found the door to your apartment, got it open, and dropped your stuff on the floor just inside. Finally. You could relax.

You heard sound once more, like a snippet of conversation. You recognized it as Loki's voice. He was awake? At this hour? Well, so were you, though you probably shouldn't be. You would feel it in the morning.

He was probably just on the phone with his brother or something. You could hear him talking, but couldn't make out any of the words. It wasn't any of you business what he was saying, but for some reason, the cadence of his voice put you on edge.

You were just about to shut the door behind you when his muffled voice shot up in pitch very suddenly, raising hairs on your neck. That was it! Stark didn't skimp on materials for his buildings; everything was state-of-the-art. This floor was practically soundproofed. Loki wasn't talking; he was screaming.

You rushed, stumbling down the hall, stubbing your toe on a display case, in search of his door. His yelling grew louder as you got closer, fumbled with the doorknob, and burst into his bedroom. Even though you turned on the lights, he didn't wake, just wriggled in the heavy blankets, shouting at the top of his lungs, words you couldn't even understand.

“Loki!” You cried. “Loki, wake up! It's just a dream! Wake up!”

He didn't seem to hear you over his own voice. You reached out and shook his shoulder insistently.

You immediately regretted it.

Loki's long fingers closed around your throat, cutting off blood and air. His eyes flew open, teeth bared in an animal expression, and he stared at you without a shred of recognition. His hair fell wild around his face, growling as you pried at his hand. You knew Thor could bench a truck; the strength of the Asgardians was legendary. But Loki was one of them, and as his grip tightened, you knew you had no more than moments left.

“M-master...” You choked out. Colored spots danced in your tear-stung vision.

Ferocity gradually bled from his face, intelligence and self returning to his eyes. He released you and fell back onto the bed, groaning in pain.

“Foolish creature.” He moaned weakly. His arms wound around you, slowly but inexorably drawing you down into his embrace. “Idiot. Brainless. Are you hurt?”

“I don't think so.” You murmured. “Are you?”

He made a noncommittal noise. But you'd heard the pain in his grunt when he fell back. Whatever was wrong with his neck couldn't have been helped by this.

You lay sprawled over his chest, Loki petting your hair. It was as awkward as it could get, but a little comforting. It slowed your heart rate, at least.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You asked, though you weren't sure you wanted to know what kinds of things haunted a gods nightmares.

“What do you think?”

“Uh...no?”

“Not _entirely_ brainless it seems.”

You fell silent together, Loki stroking your hair, slowly relaxing. You got caught up in the rise and fall of his chest, starting to drift off. You felt him sigh in contentment, then, just as suddenly, he was shoving you off the bed.

“Out. Out now. Off to your own rooms.” He ordered. “We're done here.”

Confused and tired, you scuttled back into the dark hallway and back to your apartment. Your sleeping bags stank of mildew in sharp contrast to the layered scents in Loki's room. You'd have to clean them tomorrow. You wondered if Loki would allow you to use his washing machine until you could get your own. He would have to, wouldn't he? To keep your work uniform clean?

Sleep came easily for once. The silence of being indoors and hundreds of feet above the streets, the implied safety that both of those things brought, and the faded adrenaline of the evening combined with the late hour to create a potent cocktail of irresistible drowsiness. So you didn't resist, and just let it claim you.

*****

You woke up to a sore neck and Loki's insistent voice in your ear. Dragging yourself groggily out of bed, you found a new Asgardian uniform neatly folded on the floor just inside your door.

Oh, you didn't like that _at all_. This was your space now; he wasn't allowed in without permission! How did he even get in here?

Unhappily awake now, you snatched the uniform up and headed to the shower. Your only towel smelled as badly of mildew as the sleeping bags you'd spent all night in, but just let Loki say something about it. It would just be more reason to throw at him for using his washer, or getting time off to head to a laundromat.

A glance in the mirror showed what a mess you still were. Your hairbrush was old and worn, missing several of its bristles, but it still did its job well enough. It was just that your hair was all split ends and brittle, broken strands. Your skin-especially your face-was breaking out in reaction to being actually washed several days in a row. Your gums bled from your toothbrush. But you knew all this would pass.

Even the series of ugly bruises that ringed your throat would eventually fade. Though, for now...

You rummaged about in your salvaged things and found a pair of scissors, and an old flannel shirt that was falling apart. You snipped a sleeve off, and wrapped it around your bruised neck like a scarf. You'd be able to visit a thrift store and get yourself a 'new' one soon. Today was payday.

Loki had not yet left his bedroom, instead demanding your help in walking towards the master bathroom, which you had not known about yesterday. The prospect of going in there filled you with dread, but Loki merely bid you wait outside the door. Much to your relief, he didn't seem to need your help in there.

Although how he was managing on his own when he could barely walk was a mystery. How had he managed before you came? How long had he been here?

When he opened the door again, his hair was damp, and his clothing different, and he directed you to lead him to his chair.

“How did you get all that taken care of?” You asked as you wheeled him out into the semi-circular living space.

“I used magic, nosy thing.” He said. “Naturally.”

“Oh yes, naturally, of course, why didn't I think of that?”

“Because you're not very bright?” He ventured.

“Because we don't have magic here!” You shot back, and he chuckled. “Well, why do you need me then? Why not just use magic to cook and clean?”

“Hrm. Well...Technically I'm not supposed to be using magic at all while I'm convalescing. It slows the healing process.”

“Then why-”

“Do you really want to be the one to wipe my royal ass? No? Then I sacrifice in order to save us both some dignity. Now go make us breakfast.”


	6. Land of Inequality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Loki discuss what brought you to your current situation. Promises are made, but their significance is not well understood.

Your egg sandwiches seemed to pass Loki's test, as he didn't complain once throughout breakfast. He granted you permission to use the washing machine, and put you to work in what you felt would become your new routine. Dishes needed to be done, sweeping and vacuuming, basic home maintenance. He even bid you do his laundry, since it seemed that, even though he could change his clothes magically, cleaning them with magic would cost him too much energy.

Now that you understood, you'd try not to make him use magic too much. Not until he'd healed. You weren't willing to, as he had put it, wipe his royal ass, but you could do laundry. It was easy.

After cleaning the restroom, you returned to him for more orders, finding him next to the big fireplace again, reading his book. You still couldn't make out the writing; it was in an unfamiliar language, but it used a human alphabet.

“What are you reading, anyway?” You asked, craning your neck to try and read the spine.

“ _Over de Zich Uitbreidende Menselijke Wereld en de Vervanging Van het Spirituele Door het Materiële, wat Leidt tot het Verlies van het Zelf en tot Slavernij aan het Kapitaal._ ” He answered easily.

“Uh...”

“It's a text about the surrendering of the self to ever emptier pursuits, until every institution is given over to the production of capital for ruling elite, leaving every aspect of life nothing more than a shell.”

“Oh.”

You stood awkwardly for a few moments.

“You are still standing here?” Loki asked.

“I finished the bathroom.” You said. “I just needed to know what to do next.”

Loki sighed. “Can you not think for yourself? Perhaps I should make a checklist for you to consult, so you do not have to interrupt me at every turn. But for now...” He gestured to the carpet next to him. “Sit here.”

You did, though you couldn't fathom why he wanted you to.

“Now...Hmmm. Sing.” He commanded.

“What?”

“Sing. Humans have songs, do they not? Sing one.”

“But...” What song? Of all the millions of songs, which one would be appropriate to sing in the presence of an alien prince? And it wasn't as if you were a musician; you had no training, no practice.

You thought back to the music your parents used to listen to, that you listened to with them when you were a kid. Protest songs from the time of the Civil Rights movement, anti-war songs, hippie songs. You knew those by heart, even now. So you picked one that had a lovely melody and many simple verses, and began to sing.

He let you go all the way through it twice before stopping you, and he at least didn't insult your untrained voice, or seem to hate the song. He had closed his book, and closed his eyes, but now he reached down to gently fondle your makeshift scarf.

“An unapproved uniform change?” He asked.

“It's only temporary.” You said.

“It almost wasn't.” He rejoined. You both went quiet. The fire crackled in its gigantic hearth. Even though it was still daylight out, Loki had had you draw those thick blackout curtains, plunging this little section of the building into artificial twilight. The fire lit the area instead, lit Loki's book, lit his nearly inscrutable face. It was cozy, and you wondered if it reminded him of someplace he used to spend his time. A roaring fireplace, in a palace, somewhere in Asgard? His private room? A favorite lodging, somewhere in the Asgardian countryside?

You had no idea what Asgard had been like. You couldn't help but to picture equal parts rugged and sophisticated: Monumental architecture, and wide wilderness. Loki in the middle of it all, sitting in front of a fire, reading an overly complicated book.

“What do my hands look like to you?” He asked abruptly. You paused for a moment. “If you simply say 'hands', I will be cross.”

He held one hand out to you, for observation. You didn't know what he was going for, but you took his hand and studied it closely. Long fingers. Healthy skin, though extremely pale, still somehow you couldn't see the veins through it like you would have expected. Perfectly manicured nails. Little scars, and calluses here and there. A contradiction.

“They seem...Deft. Like someone who needs a lot of dexterity to do their thing, like a pianist. They've got the signs of being pampered, but they also show evidence of hard work.”

“Is that all?” He pressed. “Not drenched with the red of life? Not grasping? Not clutching, or corpse-fed, or wielding the hidden blade?”

“Um...Not really?” You said. “Were you looking for metaphor? I was just observing what was physically there.”

“My fingerprints are imprinted onto your throat!” He said heatedly. “How can you look upon these hands and not think of the merciless grip of a conqueror?”

“Dude, look. When I was out there, do you know how people treated me? I was kicked. I was shoved. People slapped me, spat on me, threw things at me. Mugged me, pulled my hair, full on tried to kidnap me into human trafficking once. What you did to me was bad; but you didn't do it on purpose. You aren't the first person to leave bruises on me.” You tightened your hold on his hands. “But you are the first to seem like you care.”

His expression went opaque again.

“You need not worry about that.” He said dismissively. “You are my retainer. My maid, my chef, my...everything else. No one shall harm you, for I am your ultimate authority, and they will have to go through me first.”

He flicked his hand, and a knife appeared. You jerked back, startled.

“I always wield the hidden blade.”

You swallowed. It made the bruises on your neck ache.

“Where were you?” He asked. “While I was in the sky, laying waste to your homeland, where were you?”

“Loki, are you sure you want to...” He seemed determined to talk about uncomfortable subjects. Maybe he just wanted to get them out of the way quickly.

“Dodging falling rubble and laser blasts?” He pressed on. “Trapped inside a ruined building? Chased by a Chitauri death squad?”

“No, no. I was underground.” You said. He seemed to be imagining it all as he said it, his expression growing sour. “I wasn't homeless then, but I was in the subway tunnels, heading to Central Park before work. Your soldiers never got down there so the drivers started taking whichever routes took them farthest from the city center. I wasn't hurt at all.”

“No? But your place of employment was? Your home?”

“Well, not really. There was some damage, but nothing that couldn't be fixed.”

“Where did you work?”

“Oh...just a bodega...you wouldn't know it.” You didn't like where this was going. It only led to bad memories.

“Then I am not the cause of your homelessness?” He sounded mildly disbelieving. You scoffed.

“Believe it or not, you actually aren't the cause of every misfortune in New York.”

“Then what happened? What is the chain of events that brought you to me?”

“Eh...that's mostly Mr. Stark's doing, you know?”

“You are deflecting. I am more than an expert in such things, I can tell. Why are you here, and no longer a _bodegrkonur_? If not myself, then what caused you this misfortune?”

“What does it matter? I'm here now.”

“And here you shall stay. But it matters because I asked you.”

“Geez, all right, it's just a boring story about petty bullshit, and I don't like thinking about it. My old roommate was an Omega, and her dad ran the shop, so we both worked there. Then she got herself hooked up with an Alpha, and he was an aggressive, controlling prick who wanted to cut her off from everyone else, so he kicked me out without letting me find another place first, and intimidated her dad into firing me. Didn't even let me get any of my stuff. I haven't heard from her since. I don't know if she's okay, I don't even know if she's still alive. And I don't want to try to contact her dad, because I don't want to cause trouble for her family. Dude was unhinged, seriously.”

“That is...Distressing.” He said.

“It's not uncommon. Alphas run the show, and they're never held accountable, so this shit happens sometimes. Anyway, you happy? You like the answer? It wasn't you, it was some other overbearing douche. Hooray.”

“No, that does not please me at all.” He said, in response to your bitterness. “I cannot help but to think of how this situation could be improved. Or at least mitigated. If I were in charge...Oh come now, do not look at me like that.” He said defensively at your side-eyed glance. “I was raised to rule, and cannot help but to think like this.”

“Is that what you're gonna do when your neck heals?” You asked. “Go back to Nova Scotia and help Thor with New Asgard?”

“Possibly.” He said. “Probably. My esteemed brother does want me to, but it might not be allowed. The land was bestowed on us in exchange for several promises from us, but the Canadian government hasn't decided what to do with me. For now, I am not allowed there unless incarcerated. They are taking the period of my convalescence as time to deliberate.”

Someday he would be healed, and he would go home. Well, to his new home anyway. What awaited him there? Jail? Or perhaps a high office, with a whole array of actually competent servants. One to cook, one to sing, one to clean, one to warm up his bed. Whatever he might need, there would be someone to do it. Heck, he was a prince no matter what; he might be stuck in a dungeon and still have all that help.

And you? After Loki healed and went wherever he was going to go, you would...do something. Could you put something like 'personal help to royalty' on your resume, if no one was supposed to know he was here? Surely his presence couldn't be kept secret forever.

Beyond that, there was the Stark name that you could plaster everywhere. He might not even dismiss you after Loki left, he might just send you to another section of the company, to clean up whatever messes might be there. You were finding that you didn't mind cleaning. There was a satisfaction in seeing it all come together, seeing actual progress. It was the disrespect heaped on the so-called 'servant class', the perception of being lesser, even if the whole world would fall apart without them.

“Are you shocked speechless, feral thing, or simply too far away?” Loki asked, and you realized he'd been talking while you had ruminated.

“Far away.” You admitted. “Sorry.”

“I asked if you would come with me. Tidy up my jail cell, bring me my prisoners meals. Polish my chains. It might make the whole dreary thing worthwhile.”

“You sound pretty sure that you're going to prison.”

“Am I not already in one? My recent life has been little more than one type of prison after another. Your philosopher Foucault seemed to grasp the concept.” He gestured a series of hardback books on the shelf, each in French. “That every social construct is a prison of our own making and maintenance. Even a being such as myself must exist in relation to these constructs, either within or against, but never free from.

And you, little thing, exist in relation to me now. You can continue to do that, if you wish, wherever I am bound.”

“What if you don't go to prison though? If your brother gets his way, and you get to be his right hand guy? Won't you have enough servants then? “

“Oh, there is always room for more.” Loki assured. “Worry not, anxious thing. There would be a place for you.”

“Not sure I want that.” You said. “I've only had this job for two days. I only had my prior job for a week. I want a little stability before I agree to go anywhere else.”

“A prison and a facade.” He pointed out.

“But it's mine to choose.” You replied.

He nodded sagely. You got the feeling that he knew that sentiment well.


	7. The Invisible Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and his servant discuss the nature of freedom.

You found yourself hiding in your apartment for several hours that day. Loki had gotten a call-the first you could remember-and had instantly bid you leave his presence. In fact, he said he would have preferred you leave the building altogether, but it was suddenly pouring outside, so you'd opted to hide out in your room instead.

You didn't know what would cause him to act that way, but you'd tried to use the time to take a nice relaxing nap. But the sound of rushing wind had rattled the tower, and someone had entered Loki's apartment without bothering to be quiet about it.

Shortly after that, the shouting had begun.

So much for napping.

You opened your door just a crack, and peered out into the round living space down the hall.

Thor was there.

THE Thor, the God of Thunder himself, the only man you'd ever thought might make a good case for monarchy.

He was pacing back and forth in front of Loki, gesticulating broadly, both of them speaking in raised voices. You didn't understand the language at all, it was round and bouncy, with long rolled R's, and rock hard consonants. They didn't seem to be fighting; this was not a shouting match with each other. This looked like shared anger, a common indignance over some other subject.

They discussed loudly with one another, Thor standing across from Loki, around the little table where you shared meals. He was drawing something in a note book, tapping the paper for emphasis, while Loki took up the pen and drew something else. Eventually, the loudness died down, both men becoming absorbed in whatever plan or problem they were going over, and you hid back away in your rooms, satisfied that there wasn't going to be a fight.

They were more than a little frightening when they shouted. There was power in those ancient voices, and it jellied your insides. What must it have been like for people, hundreds of years ago, to hear these beings speak? It wasn't surprising that bygone societies had been built around them.

Thor left eventually, with grim laughter, but seemingly on good terms. When you slunk back out into the hallway, Loki remained at the table, writing in his notebook. He seemed tense, but not angry.

“So...” You started. Loki blew out a long breath.

“I desire some kind of sweet confection.” He said. “If you do not already know how, please learn to make some kind of cake or cookie, and then do so.”

“And then...”

“And then eat some with me.”

Dismissal then. So be it. He'd tell you, or he wouldn't, what business was it of yours?

It was time to level up. It was time to learn how to make cookies.

******

You knew that if this were a movie, or TV show, smoke would billow out once you opened that oven, and your cookies would all be burnt. But that's not what this was, and your cookies were actually fine. A little flat and crispy around the edges, but perfectly tasty. Loki seemed to take extra pleasure in their crunchiness, a detail you filed away for later. He was still agitated, but it was like a swift current at the bottom of a calm stream. You found yourself a bit afraid to step in.

“What do you think freedom is?” He asked abruptly. He'd been back into his extra-long-titled philosophy books again. You'd been trying to convince him to move on from Keirkegaard, but the existentialism spoke to him.

He'd had you sit with him next to his huge fireplace, and sing a few times now, and he even translated excerpts from his books for you in order to discuss them with you. He liked your somewhat cynical, layman's view on these lofty subjects, even seemed to find validity in your sometimes frustrated “I don't know, why should it matter?” answers. This time you thought about it for a while.

“I think it doesn't actually exist. It's an unobtainable idea.” You said.

“Care to expand?”

“Well, okay. So what is freedom? That's a really tough question, right? Like, for some people, its 'not being discriminated against because of skin color' or something like that. For others, it as simple as financial stability. But both of those have something in common with what I think is the average definition, which is 'not being beholden to capricious authority figures'. But is that even possible? I mean, say you're a king.

Not literally!” You exclaimed, as Loki opened his mouth. “But as a king, there's supposedly no higher power than you in all the land, right? But...you also have responsibilities. Burdens. You have to rule, and you have to do it well, or you won't be king for long. You still, in some part, owe your time and effort to the people you rule. You aren't free. You can't just do whatever you want, whenever you want. The people won't put up with it. Eventually, they'll rise up an overthrow you, maybe even kill you. It happened a lot.

But if you go with the Divine Right idea, even though you're telling the peasants that they have to do whatever you say because it's God's will, it's still admitting that you answer to a higher power. Therefore, you are not free, because you are under the authority of a deity and supposedly have to abide by their rules and doctrines. If you don't, your Divine right to rule may be revoked and again, if you have ruled poorly, you'll be overthrown and killed.

You can't even reach freedom by removing yourself from the chains of society. Take yourself off to some deserted place with no other people around, and you can do whatever you want, right? Except you still have to eat. You still need shelter. You still have to spend a lot of time dealing with those things. You are still trapped by the laws of nature. Try to defy them, and you will be killed.

Even in death...either there's no afterlife, and you just stop existing at all, and therefore can't engage in concepts such as freedom, or there is an afterlife, but it follows the rules of the god who created it, and you have to follow those rules while you're there. There's no such thing as true freedom. It can't be achieved.”

“How does that make you feel?” Loki asked softly.

You shrugged. “Not as frustrated as I should, I guess. I don't feel strongly about it. What am I supposed to do about it, rebel?”

“Isn't that what your parents did?”

“Yeah, and they're both dead!” You exclaimed. Loki fell quiet.

“I'm sorry.” You said. “It's just that everyone who finds out about them expects me to be like them, but I'm just not. I'm not their opposite, but I'm not...them.”

“What happened to them?” He inquired. “I don't actually know about them, save for what you have alluded to.”

“You have a phone, right? Look up the 'Joyful Liberation Compound'. I'll clean up these cookies.”

You washed the dishes and cleaned up all the flour and crumbs. When you joined him at the table again, he was staring at his phone, expression grim.

“Yeah.” You said.

“You are the only survivor.” He stated.

“Yeah, because I ran away when I turned seventeen. Had to smuggle myself out in the back of a supply truck. They didn't let us back outside once we came in. Only very carefully vetted individuals, high in the pecking order were allowed back into the outside world, and then only to recruit or bring back supplies that we couldn't create at the compound. 'Liberation' was right in the name, but we were very Not Free.”

“Brave little thing.” Loki said. “It must have been very difficult to make that choice.”

“We joined when I was fifteen.” You said. “I was only there for two years. Not like the other kids, who were raised there, or spent most of their lives there. They didn't know anything else. Now they never will.”

“Your government baffles me sometimes.” Loki said. “Billionaire slavers are elevated rather than criminalized, yet they're perfectly prepared to raze an entire compound to the ground? With everyone inside? Even the children?”

“They were an accelerationist cult.” You pointed out. “They thought the end of American civilization was coming, and that they were supposed to help bring it about.”

“And your government is full of dominionists and fascists.” Loki pointed back. “This seems nothing more than one civil deconstructionist cult destroying the competition while it is still small.”

“Yeah, it sucks all around.” You agreed heatedly. “That's what happens when you have one set of laws for a favored class of people, and another for everyone else. The scum rises to the top and then chokes out everyone else...Sorry.”

Loki regarded you sourly. “You speak very freely, brave thing.”

“Is it different where you come from?” You asked.

“Yes, actually. We have an unbroken line of succession that oversees a thriving and prosperous culture, kept that way by firm, yet judicious leaders.”

“You tried to take over a whole planet by force!”

“I intended to fix your crumbling infrastructure and even out your unbelievable inequality issues.” Loki insisted.

“By enslaving us all? Making us all equally subservient to you?”

“There is a difference between bravery and foolishness.” He warned. “I meant to rule as a benevolent god. You do not wish to see me vengeful!”

You snapped your mouth shut. His Alpha scent intensified when he exerted his personality, but it was the power in his voice that shivered through you.

You hated that. You hated it. The scent made you so uncomfortable, dredged up so many tainted memories. And the vocal power of an Old God squelched your spirit. You sat, still and quiet, practically radiating resentment.

After a few moments of extremely uncomfortable silence, Loki sighed.

“It would not have worked.” He admitted. “My intentions were not pure. I would certainly have _tried_ , yes, I would have given my best effort, but there were...other...factors.”

“What other factors?” You asked. Hadn't your real boss, the one that paid you, the Tony Stark one, asked you to find out things about this exact subject?

Also, you were curious. What was the secret? What had brought the great god Loki low?

His mouth opened and then closed. No sound came out. As you watched in growing confusion, his face began to twitch, twisting into a grimace, his eyes filling with frustration. Breath hissed through bared teeth, his fists clenching over the armrests of his wheelchair. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

“Loki? Loki! Stop!” You exclaimed. “Stop, you don't have to! Stop!”

Loki let out a groan of pain, then shoved you away when you grabbed his hand. You fell right on your rear.

“Get out of here!” Loki roared. “Get out of my sight, and do not show your face again today!”

You scrambled to your feet and rushed to your apartment, slamming the door behind you. Your organs felt like water, as you slid down the back of your door, flinching at the sounds of destruction coming from outside.

What was that? What had just happened? Did it hurt him to try to speak of what happened to him? It had seemed like some painful, physical battle. You fumbled for your phone and called your real boss.


	8. Civil Disobedience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In direct defiance of Loki's orders, you make life easier for him.

“Like he got mad that you were asking questions?” Stark asked over the phone. “If he starts getting like that, you don't have to keep asking.”

“No, not like that at all!” You exclaimed, back to the door, trying to speak over the sound of cursing and thumping from the penthouse outside. “He _wanted_ to tell me! He was trying to, but it was like something clamped his mouth shut, and he couldn't get it out. Looked like it really hurt.”

“Damn. That's way worse than just withholding the information. What the hell is even with this guy? If it's not one weird thing, it's some other weird thing. Okay, well don't put yourself in danger if you don't have to.”

“Yeah. I'm just...hanging out now.” You said nervously. The crashing was still going on. “Gonna be fine though.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah! It's fine! Talk to ya later, boss!” You hung up the phone. You didn't want Stark to hear the disturbance. You definitely didn't want him sending anyone up here to 'calm things down'; that would only end badly for everyone involved, but probably Loki most of all.

He was still injured. And this tantrum couldn't be helping, with all the expended magic, and undue stress on his neck.

And you didn't actually want to leave yet. You _knew_ this wouldn't last forever. Logically, you knew. Loki would heal, and you would move on. It was inevitable. Nothing stayed.

But you didn't want it to be over yet. You didn't want him to be carted off to the hospital or jail just yet. You didn't want to be relocated or let go yet. There were other factors at play now. The territorial desire for a place to call your home. The pride that wouldn't allow you to admit failure, even if you hadn't actually failed anything. The burning curiosity. Now, more than ever, you wanted to know what had happened to him! But obviously you couldn't just come out and ask him about it.

The shouting and crashing had died down outside your door, replaced by coughing. You cracked your door and peeked out.

You could just barely see Loki, red-faced and clutching his armrests tightly. His teeth were bared in a gritted snarl, but the coughing was a rhythmic sound repeating itself as though he was laughing. After a moment you realized that wasn't it. He was sobbing.

He had told you-ordered you-not to come back today.

But you were out in the hall anyway, grabbing up a box of tissues on your way to him.

“Insubordinate fool.” He gasped. “How dare you defy me?”

“Mhm.” You began carefully blotting up his tears.

“I could kill you. Instantly.”

“Any second.”

“And still you disobey! I should punish you most severely for this.”

“Yeah. You should really bring out your worst.”

You found yourself in his lap somehow; it was really the only position you could be in, in order to reach his face and stroke his hair, offer him the comfort he had obviously been craving for so long.

“You cannot imagine the frustration!” He raged, and you clucked, and cooed, and agreed. You probably didn't really understand. Something had obviously been done to him that was far and away from the trauma you had experienced. So you continued to caress his cheeks and let him get his ranting out.

“I deeply wish you had not seen that.” He admitted, once he had a better grip on himself.

“I'm a servant, right?” You said. “I don't really have any impact on your reputation. Besides, I'm your omni-servant, aren't I? She who does all? Didn't you have, like, councilors on Asgard?”

“Of course. But it was...unseemly...for someone of my station...and then it was too late.”

Sheer force of will kept you from rolling your eyes. Of course there was a stigma against him getting the help he needed. Because he was a prince, or an Alpha, or a man. It was just one more stupid flaw of Alpha-run societies. It was just the same here on Earth.

“How is your neck?” You asked. “Do you need any painkillers or anything?”

“Uncomfortable, and no.” He answered, letting you stand once again. “Your drugs are useless to me. And we do not profane our bodies with such anyway. It's an insult to our physical purity.”

“Oh my god, Loki. Are you an anti-vaxxer?”

“A what? No, it's just that Asgardians are impervious to viruses, and so am I. And there is no pain so great that I cannot endure it. Think me weak, simply because of this?” He gestured to his neck brace. “My pain is pure. I do not need to do anything about it, save endure.”

“Not weak, just that there's nothing wrong with-”

“I do not require that kind of sympathy.” He interrupted. “Your comfort was a gift, but you need not press it further.”

“All right, all right!” You said. Was this some kind of Asgardian thing? “No painkillers, I get it. How is it though? Is it still broken, or is that even what happened in the first place?”

He stared at you with the wariness of a wild animal. “It was...” He paused. Nothing happened. “It was broken.”

“How?” Who could do that to a god?

He hissed in pain.

“I mean, how did you survive?” You amended swiftly. Whatever had done it must be tied to whatever was enforcing his silence.

“I...I...was in space. In a sort of torpor. It has happened before. So too, was my brother. A ship came, ostensibly in response to our distress call, but more realistically to salvage any valuables from the wreck. They found Thor, and something possessed them to bring him aboard. He woke there, and for once- _for once_ -he refused to leave me behind.

Their captain came out to find me. He is human, and a sentimental fool, like all your kind. When he saw that my neck was wrong...I do not know what it is about your people that drives them to do such things without even thinking about it...like some kind of strange instinct...he straightened my head. Damn fool has phenomenal luck. He got it just right. I woke up right out there in space with him, mostly unable to move. He went back immediately to get me an old style of space helmet; it was so thick and bulky that it acted as a makeshift brace just long enough for them to put together a real one.

The whole crew of that ship is irrevocably insane, lunatics, all of them. But I owe my life to human sentimentality.”

“So we aren't all bad, huh?” That was a heck of a story, if you'd ever heard one. He was right though; that was incredibly lucky. How easily he could have died.

“You are exhausting. Well. You specifically are not. But that crew was. Whoever heard of an Omega captaining such a ship? He was such an odd one. Already claimed, of course, not that he was my type.”

“How long do you think it will take to heal? Did a doctor look at you when you got here?”

“Yes, a human doctor saw to me. Tried to pierce my skin with a needle. Tried to give me a dose of something called 'morphine'! I informed him of his impertinence when the needle broke. Idiot. His tools could do nothing. To injure me took the power of an inf-fi-fff-AHG!”

He broke off, gagging.

“Loki! Loki, Loki, shhh, shhhh, I get it, he couldn't help you. Okay.”

A few moments passed while Loki caught his breath.

“The nature...of my injury...slows its healing. As does my use of magic, as does my distance from Asgard, as does the constant strain of just living my life.” He wheezed.

The nightmares. The curse, or whatever it was that hurt him when he tried to talk about it. All of those stresses must be constantly re-injuring him, keeping him from healing properly.

“What can I do?” You asked. In the back of your head, you were yelling at yourself not to get any further involved, not to offer any more of yourself, but you didn't take it back.

“You? You can do nothing, what do you think you could possibly do?” Loki scoffed. “You already take some pressure off. I do not have to use as much magic with you around.”

“Is there anything else I can do? So you can use less magic? Is there anything left of Asgard that can be brought here? Do you think, I dunno, lullabies or warm milk before bed would help with the nightmares? I can learn to sing better!”

He stared at you, expression severe and hard to read. Maybe you had overstepped again.

“I'll think about it.” He said. “For now, I am tired...warm milk? Really? Am I an infant?”

“No milk? Not even with cinnamon?”

Loki's lip curled. “Disgusting.”

“Man, you really are a picky eater.”

He had you leave him by the fireplace with is books, and prepare dinner. You went with pot roast this time, dumping all the ingredients into a slow cooker, and washing the prep dishes, while thinking to yourself.

You were so done with suffering. It had been all around you for so long, inescapable, the greater portion of your lived experience. There had to be something else. You'd caught tantalizing glimpses of another way of life, like peeking through the slats of a fence. But every time you thought you had found a way to slip through, somebody boarded it up. Even now, when the sun was out, and things were looking up, you couldn't help but look at this man, and see the rich, velvety layers of misery he was swaddled in.

Perhaps it was just another symptom of the human sentimentality he so scorned. To see someone in pain, and instinctively want to alleviate it. It was so integral to the core of humanity that your people had to be bombarded with a constant blitz of propaganda designed specifically to erode your compassion and empathy, just so you would stop. But it didn't stop you, not all of you. There were still protests, and strikes, and mutual aid, and community action. The urge was still there; it could not be stripped from all of you.

You returned to his side while waiting for dinner to cook. It would be a few hours yet, in which you didn't have much to do, so you sank down on the cushion he had taken to leaving near the fireside for you. Loki was staring into the sparks, as if trying to glean meaning from their dance.

“Would it offend your sensibilities overmuch to help me dress?” He asked. “It would reduce my magic use by a small amount.”

“Yeah, I could probably do that.” You said. That wouldn't be so bad, especially since he was mostly wearing robes during his convalescence. The underthings would be a challenge, simply because of the basic embarrassment that nudity always brought on. But if you could get past the awkwardness, it shouldn't be difficult.

“Are you certain? You will be exposed to certain things that could dishonor you.” He said.

“Dishonor?” You snorted. “What's there to dishonor? You already said you weren't gonna do anything to me.”

“Ah, but I do not wish to make you suffer the temptation.”

“Not gonna be a problem, trust me.” You said. Embarrassment, maybe. Temptation? Never. It was an advantage, you told yourself. Over and over again, you told yourself. At the back of every man who walked out your door, you told yourself. It was an advantage. The pheromones didn't effect you. It made you free.

But Loki frowned slightly. “Very well.” He said, slightly miffed. “You can bathe me as well, if it means so little to you.”

And there it was again. The pride always bruised like an overripe pear.

“I probably can, yeah.” You said, holding on to feigned nonchalance. That was somewhat more difficult, because it meant you would have to be physically touching more of him than you would by just dressing him. But cleaning himself probably took a lot more magic that getting dressed did. And the touch would just be kind of inconvenient, and then there was the brace...

“What do I do about the brace?” How would you wash his hair and face without getting it wet? How would you wash his neck?

“Unfortunately, I will have to use a little bit of magic to keep it dry.” Loki admitted. “Still, it will be less than before. Are you truly sure about this?”

“Never know if I don't try.” You said.

“Strange little thing. To be so cavalier. Well, we shall see how brave you are when the time comes.”

******

The time had come, and now you knew why Loki's tub was so damn big. It was built to accommodate his incredibly long legs, as well as any helpers he might require.

And probably a bit of debauchery as well. You couldn't discount that possibility, unlikely as it was that he would have partners over any time soon.

You stood in hot water just up to your thighs, wielding a soapy scrubbing pad, while Loki lounged submerged nearly to his shoulders. Things were going well so far.

Stripping him down hadn't actually been so bad; the man was built like a Geefs sculpture, like a statue of the Devil so beautiful it had to be removed from the church. He had done almost nothing to hide his privates from your view, almost challenging you, but it didn't matter. That wasn't what drew your eyes.

No, your gaze was held by the roadmap of scars that meandered across his torso, around his back, over his shoulders. A hundred human lifetimes of cuts and stabs, of burns and gashes. A cicatrix as long as your hand just to the side of his sternum caught and trapped your attention. What could do that? What could do that to him? It had a brother, a twin less than an inch from his spine. It must have been a blade. It must have severed ribs.

“It was an abomination, since you are wondering.” Loki had said, catching your horrified stare. “Like legends of old, we became each other's demise.”

“But...”

“Does it disgust you? Am I so ugly to you now that you have seen all of me?”

“No! You're just...” Like an exaltation of form that had inspired artists for millennia. An expression of beauty that could be appreciated so much farther than just the carnal. Even the marks that scrawled across his body like a cuneiform tablet only added to the story of him. The tantalizing story of a being ages old and aeons away.

He'd sunk slowly into the water with an appreciative moan, shameless, ruling the moment like the prince he was.

He'd given you a different uniform for this activity. It was basically a one-piece bathing suit, but it retained the aesthetic of your Asgardian uniform. How did he just have these things? It wasn't an immodest garment by any means, but you felt almost as revealed as he was while wearing it.

The soap was definitely something special; luxurious and sudsy, it was actually moisturizing, and smelled like a forest in Autumn. You kept your little exfoliating pad frothy with it, and used it to limit the amount of physical contact with him. He wasn't making it easy; he kept stretching out and posing, leaning into your touch, moaning at your gentle ministrations. You _were_ being gentle, even though you just wanted to scrub him off and get this over with, but he was clearly in a roguish mood.

He flicked water at you in playful little splashes.

“Why are you trying so hard to stay dry, you prim little thing? There is plenty of room. You can relax too, just as long as you do your job.”

You shied away from the water droplets. “It's bad luck to mix work and play. Always comes back to bite me.”

“I don't bite that hard, do I?” He asked.

“Don't want to find out. You already threatened to drink my blood once, remember?”

He gave a fake frown. “That was before I realized how sour you were. No respectable bloodsucker would be able to stand two drops of you.”

“Then I'll keep my precious blood to myself. Now show me your back.”

“With pleasure.” He stood up to turn around, deliberately giving you a view of his marble ass. You were tempted to give it a hard pinch. After all, if he was going to act like an exasperating child, you might as well treat him like one. However, you also felt it was more likely that you would break your fingers squeezing before he even felt the slightest sting.

He paused a moment before sitting back down, just making sure you got a good eye full. What a brat. Was he like this as a kid? You couldn't imagine what kind of royal terror he must have been, with his tempers and his tricks. He didn't seem terribly hard to please though.

You set about scrubbing his back, taking note of the many scars there. Many of them seemed similar to each other, as if they had all been inflicted by the same awful weapon. Long, thin, and criss-crossed. You didn't know what could have caused them, but he flinched the first time you touched them, quickly regaining control.

“Does that hurt?” You asked. They didn't look fresh, but that didn't mean anything. “What made these?”

“Lash.” He said, but cut you off with a sharp hand gesture when you started to ask more questions.

Was it related to the things he couldn't say, or just another bad memory? A whip? There were so many of those marks.

You carefully washed his hair, probably the least stressful part of the whole affair, though you did watch his face carefully for any signs of discomfort regarding his neck.

You were just about to declare him clean and step out of the tub, when his hand shot out and caught you by the wrist.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” He asked. You noticed the suppressed mirth in his voice and didn't know if you liked it.

“Don't think I am, no.” You said. He gestured to the water. Specifically, he gestured to the water that was currently covering his crotch.

Oh, it was going to be like that? A challenge? Bratty to the last.

“How could I have possibly forgotten?” You drawled sarcastically. You reached down into the water and grabbed him without any ceremony or gentleness. He went instantly hard in your hand.

Perhaps this had been a bad idea.

But as you held up the rough scrubbing pad and saw the merriment drain from his expression at the realization of what was coming, vengeful satisfaction settled in your soul. He barely had time to protest before you plunged the pad underwater and gave the whole area the cleaning he'd demanded.

When you were done, and his muffled yelps had subsided, you tossed the pad aside, and climbed out of the water.

“All done!” You announced with fake cheer.

Loki glared at you, his lips pressed so tight, they almost disappeared. There wasn't any anger in his gaze, but you slipped out of the bathing room quickly, lest the heat of it bore into your back.


End file.
